13th March. Johnson sits behind his big desk in the Oval Office. He leans forward and presses a button, and a secretary’s voice comes on the intercom.
Voice Yes, Mr President?
Johnson Is Governor Wallace in the Cabinet Room?
Voice Yes, Mr President.
Johnson Just stall him in there for five minutes, will you, give him a picture-book or something; and send me in the Attorney General.
Voice Yes, Mr President.
Johnson rises swiftly to his feet and moves to open a concealed door, revealing a smallish bathroom. He unbuckles his belt, lowers his pants and sits on the lavatory. Presently, Katzenbach steps into the empty room, briefcase in hand. He looks around, puzzled, not, for the moment, taking in the open bathroom door.
Johnson That you, Nick?
Katzenbach Uh, yes, Mr President.
Johnson I’m taking a dump.
Katzenbach Oh.
Johnson Come in, come in.
Tentatively, as if walking across coals, Katzenbach puts down his briefcase and ventures into the doorway of the bathroom.
Come right in, you don’t have to stand there in the doorway like you were the Avon lady.
Katzenbach tiptoes a couple of feet into the room.
Now, do you have some paper?
Katzenbach grapples with a wild surmise.
Katzenbach Paper?
Johnson To make some notes.
Katzenbach Oh! No. I’ll get some.
He steps back into the Oval Office, finds a shorthand pad and reluctantly returns.
Johnson Wallace: what should I ask him to do?
Katzenbach Well … what do you want him to do?
Johnson Write me some demands I can make.
Johnson Yeah, make a list, any six things, six demands, number them, make them as outrageous as you like.
Katzenbach Ah, yes, sir.
For a moment, there’s silence, as Katzenbach leans back against the wall, scribbling furiously and Johnson completes his business, finally rising to his feet, his pants, however, still around his ankles.
Johnson Don’t mean to interrupt you, Nick, but I got a question for you.
Katzenbach Yes, Mr President?
Johnson Come here, will you?
Gingerly, Katzenbach approaches. Johnson half turns, pointing at one of his buttocks with a long finger.
Is this a boil on my ass?
Katzenbach Um…
Johnson I can’t see it from up here.
Appalled, Katzenbach leans forward to inspect the offending item. Then he straightens up.
Katzenbach Looks very like a boil, Mr President.
Johnson I thought so. That’s Governor Wallace for you: nothing but a boil on my ass.
He flushes, pulls up his pants, buckles his belt and leads Katzenbach, who’s still frantically writing, back into the Oval Office, pushing the bathroom door shut behind him. Then he crosses to the desk and presses a button on the intercom.
Voice Yes, Mr President?
Johnson Send Governor Wallace in, will you?
Voice Yes, Mr President.
Johnson turns to Katzenbach.
Johnson Are you done?
Katzenbach Almost.
Johnson holds out a hand and Katzenbach finishes writing, tears off the sheet of paper and hands it to Johnson, who just has time to glance at it, before the door opens and Governor George Wallace is shown in. Johnson thrusts the piece of paper into his pocket and advances with hand extended to greet Wallace, a shifty little man of forty-five with greasy hair. He looks up at Johnson, who looms over him; he takes his hand with some reluctance, his expression more than a little alarmed.
Johnson Well, it’s just wonderful of you to come and visit with us, Governor. This is Nick Katzenbach, my Attorney General. But, of course, you met him in Tuscaloosa, didn’t you, when he came with the National Guard to move you out of that schoolhouse door!
Wallace and Katzenbach shake hands; Wallace’s expression is thunderous.
And how is Lurleen? My, what a beautiful woman! And your four lovely little kids?
Wallace All very well, Mr President.
Johnson Of course you know Lady Bird’s people were from Alabama, she spent every summer in Autauga County, all her childhood till she was a grown woman, talks about it all the time.
Wallace I didn’t know.
Johnson Well, now, Governor, did you know you have something in common with Dr Martin Luther King?
Wallace I do?
Johnson You’re the only two people ever asked to come see me and told the Press you were coming before I even had time to spit out the invitation.
Wallace Oh, but I thought …
Johnson It’s all right, Governor, I’m kidding you, it’s just my way. Now come over here and sit down, so we can get down to business.
He puts his arm round Wallace and leads him over to the corner of the low sofa where he sat King. Then he sits in his rocking chair, towering over Wallace. Katzenbach chooses a chair on the other side of the table, facing Wallace. Johnson makes a lavish gesture.
You got to try some brittle.
Wallace gives a pinched smile, hoping to avoid the instruction: however, presently, under Johnson’s merciless gaze, he feels obliged to take a slab of peanut brittle and put it in his mouth. This means that for the first minute or so of the conversation, his mouth is full of this evidently repulsive and almost unmanageable substance. He’s further disconcerted by Johnson’s undeviating stare.
Well, now, Governor: what was it you wanted to see me about?
Wallace Mr President, the streets of Selma and Montgomery are crawling with Communists and anarchists, trained in New York and Moscow; and this judge, if I know him, and I do, this irresponsible judge is going to give this riff-raff official permission to make even more trouble. That’s not the way to deal with street revolutionaries, which is what we have here. They’ll never be satisfied. First they want the front seat on the bus; then they want to take over the public schools; then it’s voting rights; finally, they want redistribution of wealth. And they just … inflame people, the language they use and the noise they make.
Johnson I know about that: the screaming and hollering those goddamn nigras let out every night on Pennsylvania Avenue is keeping my daughters awake.
Wallace I knew you’d understand, Mr President.
Johnson So what do you want me to do?
Wallace We have very limited amounts of state policemen …
Johnson You want me to send in the National Guard?
Wallace Well, yes, that would certainly …
Johnson Wait a minute, Governor, whoa there: it’s your ox that’s in the ditch, shouldn’t you be getting him out yourself? Shouldn’t you be calling out your Guard?
Wallace I hate to do that, sir. And of course every time I call out the Guard, you-all go and federalise them.
Johnson We do whatever we can to avoid brutality, Governor. I know you hate brutality as much as I do.
Wallace They didn’t start all that ruckus, Mr President, it was the outside agitators and the beatniks, it was pure provocation …
Johnson You got those photographs, Nick?
Katzenbach opens his briefcase and slides a folder across the table to Wallace, who reluctantly opens it and starts looking at a sheaf of large black-and-white photographs.
Wallace These are … isolated incidents.
Johnson It’s what happened on Sunday, George, women and children attacked and hospitalised. The whole world saw it on the TV. I think you have to admit there was brutality.
Wallace Well …
Johnson The kind of brutality that does us no good at all at home or abroad.
Wallace I suppose … things got a little out of hand.
Johnson tips his rocking chair forward and puts a hand on Wallace’s knee.
Johnson I don’t understand you, George, you used to be a real progressive New Dealer. Why are you off on this black thing? You ought to be back down there making sure Aunt Susie gets the help she needs in the nursing home.
Wallace I …
Johnson See, George, if you can stop harking back to 1865 and wake up to it being 1965, your President will help you! Think of the improvements you can make – for all races – in the Alabama education system. You got a lot of poor people down there, a lot of ignorant people. Listen, what do you want left after you when you die? You want a great big marble monument that reads: ‘George Wallace – He Built’? Or you want a little bitty piece of scrawny pine board that reads: ‘George Wallace – He Hated’?
He sits back triumphantly, resting his case. Wallace has no idea what to say. By a happy inspiration, Johnson now fetches Katzenbach’s list out of his pocket and runs an eye over it.
You saw all those television cameras out there on your way in?
Wallace Yes.
Johnson Now, George, I know you love to be on television. Hell, I’ve watched you attacking me on television and you were so goddamn persuasive I had to turn off the set before you had me changing my mind about myself!
Wallace chuckles feebly.
I’m going to put something to you, something that’ll turn off all these demonstrations in a heartbeat. Why don’t you just desegregate all your schools? Then you and I can go out there right now in front of those cameras and you can announce it: ‘I’ve decided to desegregate every school in Alabama.’
Silence. Wallace is gaping at him, appalled. Finally he manages to close his mouth.
Wallace You know I can’t do that, Mr President. The schools are all locally run, they’ve got school boards. I don’t have the power to make that kind of political decision.
Johnson OK, here’s some other little suggestions.
He briefly consults his piece of paper. As he makes each point, he pauses long enough to register Wallace is not going to respond, before moving on.
You could undertake, in every circumstance, to obey all Federal Court orders.
You could commit to a guarantee of law enforcement without brutality, I thought we just agreed that was a good idea.
You could publicly support the right to peaceful assembly. You could institute a series of meetings, biracial meetings, to discuss all your outstanding problems.
No?
Wallace opens his mouth. Nothing comes out.
Well, all right, then, why don’t you just come out with me and affirm the principle of universal suffrage?
Wallace Anybody who’s registered in Alabama can vote.
Johnson Well, then we just say from now on, everybody in Alabama can be automatically registered, including nigras.
Wallace Mr President, under Alabama law, that power belongs to the county registrars. I don’t have that power.
Johnson Now don’t you shit me, George Wallace! Last year, unless I misremember, you had the power to keep the President of the United States off the Alabama ballot. And you’re telling me you don’t have the power to tell a few poor county registrars where they get off?
Wallace I … well, no, really, I don’t.
Johnson rises to his feet.
Johnson So, I’m guessing you don’t want to come out with me and make a joint statement.
Wallace I don’t think I …
He’s on his feet as well.
I really want to thank you for the opportunity to let me come here, Mr President.
Johnson takes him by the lapel and drapes his other arm over Wallace’s shoulder.
Johnson Well, you just come on by whenever you feel like it, George.
Wallace Thank you, Mr President.
Johnson scoops up an ashtray from the coffee table.
Johnson And here’s a little something for Lurleen, a souvenir from the White House.
Wallace Ah, thank you.
Johnson, by now, has him over to the door. He leans out, calling offstage.
Johnson The Governor needs to leave by the side entrance.
Wallace Well, I’m very …
But the door closes on him and he’s gone. Johnson turns back into the room, grinning widely.
Johnson Great list, Nick.
Katzenbach I must say, Mr President, I’m impressed …
Johnson When I saw the little shit-heel wasn’t going to give me anything, I thought least I could do was leave him with something to think about. Now …
Katzenbach Yes, sir?
Johnson I got another job for you, Nick.
Katzenbach Go ahead.
Johnson I’m going to go down and tell those fucking cameras I’m going to send the Voting Rights Bill to Congress next week.
Katzenbach But …?
Johnson You’re going to let me get that out, then you’re going to interrupt me and say: ‘Mr President, isn’t this meant to be on background?’ And I’m going to say: ‘By God, yes, turn off those cameras.’ But by then the damage will have been done, you get my meaning?
He shepherds Katzenbach out of the room.